


passing the limits of your senses

by colorsofmyseason



Series: a thousand senses [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, German National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorsofmyseason/pseuds/colorsofmyseason
Summary: Some of them are wizards.Some of them are vampires.Some have the potential to destroy the world.Some may be able to bring world peace.They all meet in one team.Or,How the players from German NT deal with their abilities andabnormalities.
Relationships: Benedikt Höwedes/Mats Hummels, Bernd Leno/Marc-André ter Stegen, Lukas Podolski/Bastian Schweinsteiger, Mario Götze/Marco Reus, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Philipp Lahm/Per Mertesacker, Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil, Thomas Müller/Manuel Neuer
Series: a thousand senses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718806
Comments: 23
Kudos: 24





	1. tastes like sunshine (steno)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there *waves*
> 
> I've had my fair share writing football fanfictions before, but this is my first time posting it on AO3. I hope you will like it, though.
> 
> Also, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a sucker for supernatural AU and there's not enough in this fandom if you ask me, so I decided to write one of my own.
> 
> Basically, this is a series of one-shots and drabbles regarding how German national team players deal with their respective powers AND their relationships with each other.
> 
> Title of this story and series comes from SHINee's View (a Korean song, and one of my favorites, feel free to check it out!)
> 
> Warning: English is not my first language so forgive me for any mistakes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marc-Andre thirsts for Bernd's blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: vampire!Marc and light elemental!Bernd.
> 
> Set sometime before they started dating.

Bernd stares at Marc-Andre, not knowing what to make out of the other keeper’s strange request, while Marc-Andre only stares back at him with an indifferent look that is borderline bored.

“Let me clarify,” Bernd says slowly, each syllable taking the longest times to leave his mouth as he’s still trying to wrap his mind around everything. “You want me to do _what??_ ”

“Give me your blood,” Marc-Andre says lazily while flicking an invisible dust off his nails. “I’m thirsty.”

Bernd opens his mouth, then closes it again, as he really doesn’t know what to say in this situation.

He knows Marc-Andre is a vampire, as does everyone else in the national team, but honestly he never thinks much about it. Until now, he always assumes that the other goalkeeper has some kind of arrangements with the trainers and doctors regarding his, well, _special diet_ , and Bernd has suspected that Marc-Andre’s water bottle is always filled with blood instead of water or energy drink.

He never knows before that Marc-Andre also feeds from his teammates.

“What’s the problem?” Marc-Andre asks after a few seconds of silence. “My bite won’t turn you into a vampire, don’t believe whatever rubbish the movies and books say.”

“I know,” Bernd mutters, for he’s not completely _normal_ either, and he’s not oblivious to things like that. “It’s just…I never knew you do this. Drinking from us, I mean.”

Marc-Andre only shrugs nonchalantly as if it’s not a big deal. “I’ve drunk from everyone at the national team at least once.”

Bernd’s eyes go wide. “Really??”

“Yeah,” Marc-Andre confirms. “Everyone. Mario, Kevin, Joshua, Mats, Timo, Manuel, Marco…even Bastian.” He pauses for awhile. “Except for Fips and Thomas, maybe, but that’s because they're also vampires.”

Bernd doesn’t know what’s more surprising, the news that Marc-Andre has tasted everyone’s blood except his, or the fact that one _Philipp Lahm_ is actually a vampire as well (he already knows about Thomas). But as he thinks about the former, a strange knot that suspiciously feels like jealousy starts wrenching his stomach.

“Why haven’t you drunk from me before?” he asks instead, trying to sound casual about it.

There’s a strange glint in Marc-Andre’s eyes as the other goalkeeper responds, “Well, I usually bite someone as some kind of initiation for them to the national team…”

“I’ve been called to the national team since 2015! I don’t need _initiation_ anymore…”

“But, in your case, I want to save the best for the last.”

Bernd gulps. That’s beyond his expectation. “W-what…??”

“I want to save the best for the last,” Marc-Andre repeats, the glint never leaving his eyes, and Bernd gulps again. “I’ve sensed it since both of us were still in the U-17s, you know. Your blood. You smell so sweet, so tempting… I’ve been yearning to sink my teeth inside you ever since. But at the same time, you yourself are also so pure, so _shining_ … I don’t want to ruin something, or someone like that, also I was afraid that if I drink from you, I can never be satisfied with any other kind of blood anymore for the rest of my life.”

Bernd inhales, once, twice. “Is that why you’re always so abrasive towards me when we were still in the youth team? Because you actually wanted my blood but couldn't have it?”

“Partly,” Marc-Andre replies, smiling, and Bernd can see his fangs flashing behind his lips for one-nth second. “But you were an asshole as well, to be honest.”

Bernd rolls his eyes. For some reasons, he’s not surprised by that answer at all.

“So, how’s it? Are you going to let me drink from you or not? Because…” Marc-Andre hesitates, and for the first time, Bernd sees something in his expression that resembles fragility. “I’ve restrained myself from drinking from you all this time, but I…honestly, after seeing you play today, I don’t think I can do that anymore. You just look so happy after managing to keep a clean sheet, so _radiant_ , and I don’t know how that’s possible, but your blood seems to be _inviting_ me even more. And I think I’m going to be sick if I can’t get it.”

There’s desperation at the edge of Marc-Andre’s voice, and as Bernd takes a look at his compatriot’s paler-than-usual face and the cold sweat communed on his forehead, he knows the other goalkeeper’s not lying. So, inhaling and leaning his head to the side to expose his neck, Bernd says without looking at Marc-Andre’s eyes, “Do it.”

For a few seconds, there’s only silence, and Bernd starts wondering whether Marc-Andre has changed his mind about biting him. But as he’s about to turn his head around to scold the younger goalkeeper, he feels Marc-Andre’s cold fingers grabbing his shoulder and a pair of fangs piercing his skin.

It doesn’t hurt. He can feel the stab, and he can feel Marc-Andre sucking at the warm, fresh blood inside his vessels, but there’s no pain at all. Instead, Bernd feels a wave of ecstasy washing over him, dulling his mind, drowning his senses in a sea of bliss, but he finds himself not minding it at all. In fact, he wants this sensation to last as long as possible.

After awhile, Marc-Andre finally retracts his fangs and seals the puncture with a swipe of his tongue. Bernd looks at him, and he’s glad to see that the younger goalkeeper doesn’t look that pale anymore. But what surprises him is the faint pink colour that’s slowly making its way through Marc-Andre’s cheeks, which he’s sure isn’t caused by his blood.

“Marc?? Is there something wrong?” Bernd asks, slightly alarmed. “Does my blood taste bad or something?”

“Nothing,” the younger goalkeeper mumbles, not quite meeting Bernd’s eyes. “And your blood tastes amazing, like I’ve always predicted.”

“But??” Bernd presses, worry clear in his voice this time.

Marc-Andre slowly raises his eyes to meet Bernd’s, and, pointing to somewhere below him with a hesitated smile, he says, “We’d better take care of _them_ as well.”

Bernd’s eyes follows Marc-Andre’s finger, and only then he notices a suspicious bulge under his pants, and he realizes there’s a similar one under the younger goalkeeper’s as well.

_Uh oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of my first story here, hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	2. promises you whisper between your teeth (philipp/per)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People can say many things about Philipp Lahm, and he appreciates those things, basking in them, even.
> 
> No one needs to know what happens behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love Tol and Smol, obviously, thus this chapter is born :D
> 
> Featuring: vampire!Philipp and elf!Per.
> 
> Set sometime when both of them are still at school and play football in youth teams. I have no idea whether Philipp and Per have already known each other during their youth days, but for the sake of this story let's pretend they do.
> 
> Warning: angst!
> 
> English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any mistakes!

_Smart_ , he heard people say about him.

_Polite_ , supplied the others.

_He’s born to be a leader_ , a former classmate said when he’s chosen as the class representative for the sixth time in a row.

_Not bad-looking either_ , a girl giggled to her friend one day when he’s walking past the corridor.

_He’s great at football too_ , a junior gushed after a particularly satisfying match in which his school managed to beat their opponent 7-0.

_Do you know that he’s the only son of the main family of the Lahm clan?? Literally born into royalty and with a golden spoon in his mouth, he is_ , another voice spoke out, tone laced with the slightest bout of jealousy this time.

_He’s a perfect little gentleman_ , someone summarized, and for some reasons, he knows it wasn’t meant to be a jib towards his height.

And yes, he may be all of those things, if he’s allowed to say it himself, and that’s the face he’s going to show to the whole world. The perfect gentleman (he refuses to use the word “little”, because, reasons). The golden boy. The heir of the Lahm clan. The apple of everyone’s eye. The impeccable student. The great football player and the current captain of his youth team, even.

No one needs to know what’s going on behind closed doors.

“Babe,” a voice sighs, a little deeper than his own, and comes from a place considerably higher as well. “What is it this time?”

He can’t speak, not with his body trembling so hard and drops of tears threatening to fall from his hazel eyes. But the other understands, and soon he feels a pair of lean, yet strong arms wrapping themselves around his body, delicate fingers tracing his hair, soft kisses placed in such strategical places that he has to suppress a moan despite of himself.

He’s not supposed to do this, he knows. However, being in here, inside his lover’s embrace, him crying his heart out into his lover’s chest, everything just feels so _calm_ , so _simple_ , yet so _perfect_ , as if the storm that is currently brewing in his house never happens at first place.

He briefly wonders what his father and other people are going to say if they figures out what he’s doing right now, and his back tenses unintentionally.

“Babe,” his lover speaks again, more firmly this time. “Stop thinking about useless things. Just tell me what the hell is going on, please?”

His tears have barely dried up, but he figures that after letting so much of them go and his throat has unclenched itself considerably, he can talk now. So he speaks, voice thick and hoarse, “They were talking…they were talking about my future again.”

His lover doesn’t say anything, but he can feel the other man’s embrace grows tighter on his body.

“They’re talking about me taking over the family business, already discussing the university I should go to and so forth. They’re not even looking at me as they did so, as if my opinion didn’t count in this matter. Every time I tried to speak up they pretty much ignored me as if I wasn’t there. And then…and then, they brought up Claudia.”

His lover’s hand stills a bit in its motion of stroking his hair at the mention of the name.

“They asked whether I have asked her on a date, things like that. When I confessed that I haven’t, my father pretty much lashed out to me. Saying things like how useless I am, that I can’t get her because I concentrate more on a ‘stupid ball game’ than try to refine myself like a good little gentleman.” He lets out a dry, hollow chuckle. “They didn’t even consider the possibility that I have never been interested in girls at first place, and even if I am, Claudia has every right to choose whether she wants to be with me or not. And knowing her, I don’t think it’s going to happen, she never likes me at first place, not that I want her to or something. And at that point, I just…snapped. I told them that football isn’t stupid, I never wanted to take over the family business and there’s no way in hell I would marry Claudia.”

“And then…?” his lover asks again, more quietly this time, as if he’s afraid to hear the continuation of it.

He can’t give the question a proper answer this time, so he just lets out a shaky breath and says shortly, painfully, “This.”

He removes his shirt and shows his back to his lover, and he doesn’t have to look around to feel how his lover’s eyes widen in shock and hear the barely audible gasp escaping his lover’s lips. Even only under the pale glow of moonlight shining through the window, he knows what his lover sees, and what’s there on his back – numerous lines of long, thin, swollen, glaringly red whip marks that his father just inflicted upon him before he ran away.

He feels his lover’s slender fingers softly touch the scars, and he knows his lover doesn’t mean to hurt him, yet he can’t help wincing a bit at the touch, since the marks are still fresh, and the other man quickly retreats. “I’m sorry,” his lover apologizes, and he’s surprised to hear a hint of anger in the other man’s usually gentle voice. “He…he’s your _father_ , for goodness’ sake. He’s not supposed to do this to you…!! Why would he……??”

He sighs, but he can’t help to smile at his lover’s suppressed fury. “You’ve known my family for years, love, you know what he’s capable of doing, even his own offspring isn’t immune to his rage,” he says patiently while putting on his shirt again. “And _this_ is just the same thing that he’s been doing to me ever since I was two and he thought I didn’t speak clearly enough. Nothing new.”

Their eyes meet, and for a second he feels bad for all the worry and pain he’s inflicted upon those beautiful, amber-golden orbs that he’s grown to love so much. But then he realizes how those eyes are suddenly in such close proximity to his own.

And instinctively, automatically, he can feel his lips part.

His lover kisses him, not a hot, steamy kiss they usually have whenever they have sex, but gentle, comforting one. He can feel warmth spreading from the point his lover’s lips touch his to the very tips of his toes, and he kisses his lover back, feeling the other man’s tongue sliding lightly over the sharp edges of his vampire teeth, and it takes all his self-restraint not to lose control right there.

After both of them run out of breath, they finally breaks apart.

“Bite me,” his lover says. It’s not asking, it’s a command.

That’s what he wants as well, to sink his teeth into his lover’s deliciously pale neck, to drink the sweet-tasting, warm blood coursing all over his lover’s vessels, not to mention that elf blood contains magical properties that will allow his injuries to heal faster. However, he doesn’t want to take advantage from his lover, not even in this condition.

“It’s okay,” his lover assures, certainly reading the thoughts behind his face. “I want you to bite me. I will be fine. Come on.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He pushes his lover to sit on the bed, and, leaning his head to the other man’s neck, he closes his eyes, surrendering himself to his vampire instincts. His fangs sink into his lover’s skin easily, and warm, fresh blood spills into his mouth, more delicious, yet more _surreal_ than any other kind of blood he’s ever tasted before.

It’s as exhilarating as any drugs, and twice as intoxicating. He doesn’t know how he can ever let go, but he must’ve done so, for the next thing he remembers is himself lying on the top of his lover’s chest on the bed, with his lover’s strong arms again wrapped around him, pleasure buzzing over every inch of his body. Probably there’s some elf magic at work, he suspects. Moreover, he realizes in delight, the pain on his back has lessened significantly.

His lover shifts position a bit to look at him, and again, he’s lost in those mesmerizing eyes. Leaning their foreheads together, the other man asks quietly, “What do you want to do in your life?”

It’s a simple question, something his lover has asked him many, many times before, a question that he already knows the answer for even without thinking, and so he does, albeit rather slowly, painfully as if every word is hurting him.

“I want to be a professional football player,” he whispers. “I want to play until my body can’t take it anymore. And I…I want you, Per. I want to stay with you as long as we both live.”

He can feel Per’s arm gripping his sides tighter as the elf responds, as slowly as he did, “Then you will. You will be a professional player just as you wish, and you will win many trophies, and lead our country to victory, and be a national pride. And you will have me by your side, always, throughout everything, and I will stay with you until death do us part. I promise you, Fips.”

The last part sounds so much like a marriage vow that he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. He knows that considering his situation it will be the hardest thing to achieve, and that Per probably only says so in order to calm him down, but he still appreciates it nonetheless.

And as Per’s lips once more claim his own, Philipp Lahm wonders whether he dares to believe in everything his lover has promised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some background info:
> 
> \- philipp’s family are one of the biggest and strongest vampire clans in germany, and they also own several companies both in supernatural and human world. as the only son, naturally philipp is expected to inherit those businesses once he graduates university.
> 
> \- claudia is claudia schattenberg, philipp’s wife in real life. in this story, she’s the only daughter of another equally strong vampire clan who’s been rivals with the lahms for centuries, but those two clans have decided to set aside their differences and form an alliance in order to become the strongest vampire force in europe. the easiest way to unify those two clans happens to be an arranged marriage between philipp and claudia. 
> 
> \- philipp (obviously) doesn’t wish to follow his family’s plans for him. he wants to play football professionally, he’s never been interested in claudia (or girls in general), and he’s in a relationship with per, which his family will never accept. however given his family’s situation, it’s hard for him to simply run away. they have eyes and ears everywhere.
> 
> \- yes, philipp’s dad whips him whenever he’s being rebellious. it hurts me to write that part as well.
> 
> \- some of you might find philipp slightly OOC in this, since it’s not the usual calm and collected ~~and slytherin-like~~ philipp we all know and love, however i wish to explore how he’d be like when he’s young and having a mental breakdown and needing per to comfort him.
> 
> As usual, hope you love this story! Comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	3. just plain vanilla (neuller)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manuel's blood doesn't taste like anything. Thomas loves it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get to my favorite pairing. 
> 
> I apologize for not making them appear sooner, but this was written before I decided to make a series about supernatural AU and therefore some parts had to be rewritten to suit the verse.
> 
> Again, English is not my mother tongue so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Featuring: vampire!Thomas and wizard!Manuel.

“I can’t… I can’t drink from you. Not like this.”

The tall blonde man rolls his eyes. “You need it, and I’ll live. Besides, I know you’re not going to end up converting me into a vampire, but even if you can, I’m the last person you should worry about that.”

The other man, who is pale and lanky with mess of mousy brown curls all over his head, bites his lower lip, his odd, multi-coloured eyes not quite meeting the blonde’s as he speaks again, voice low, almost painful. “It’s not about the conversion thing. It’s…it’s because of… _you_. Drinking your blood…it feels like I’m taking something precious from you, that I have to _depend_ on you for something like that. You’re my boyfriend, not _food_ , Manu. I can’t do this to you. Please understand. Also, I’m not…I’m not so thirsty right now. I can handle it.”

Manuel sighs. He loves Thomas with all his heart, but he really hates it when Thomas is acting like this. And he knows the last part is a blatant lie. Despite of his crooked smiles and energetic behaviour and waterfall of words that usually spill out of his mouth, Thomas is actually good at keeping specific things to himself. However, whatever barrier he may have put between his happy-go-lucky persona and his internal, darker secrets and insecurities can never work on Manuel. Manuel, whose magic is strong enough to peer into people’s minds so quickly and subtly that anyone, even the magical ones, barely realizes it. Manuel, who has learned to see through Thomas’ shit since a long time ago.

Also, Manuel knows the only reason Thomas is being stubborn right now is his pride, pure and simple. But the keeper knows he can’t let his boyfriend starve, no matter what. So he just gives the vampire a sharp glance and says, “Open your mouth.”

There is such an authoritative tone in his usually calm voice that Thomas does so immediately without thinking. And before he realizes it, Manuel has pushed a finger into his mouth and pokes it on Thomas’ fangs. Being a vampire, Thomas’ teeth are so sharp that the skin breaks away easily, blood immediately dripping through the wound.

The vampire’s eyes widen in shock as he realizes what his boyfriend has done. He’s about to protest, his hand raised to push Manuel’s finger away from his mouth – but then a few drops of blood fall on his tongue, and his eyes immediately fall shut in bliss as he sucks at the small wound, trying to get as many blood from it as possible.

He has drunk various kinds of blood before – fresh blood from some willing teammates (Holger, usually), packed blood from the blood bank, synthesized blood, even animal blood during hard times, and he knows blood has different flavours. Some tastes sweet, some a little spicy, even once he tasted one so disgusting he felt like vomiting it out afterwards if he didn’t remember that he needs it to survive. He also has heard from some of his vampire friends that when they drink from their lover, it feels like they’re drinking the sweetest and tastiest blood they’ve ever known.

But he doesn’t feel the same thing with Manuel. The blood that comes from his finger is simply bland and tasteless, like drinking plain milk without any addition whatsoever. Frowning, Thomas grabs at the finger and sucks harder, and the blood comes out all right, warm and sweet-smelling and so _inviting_ , but the taste remains the same. Does this mean Manuel isn’t actually his soulmate? Trying not to show his disappointment, Thomas releases the keeper’s hand and swallows the blood that’s already on his tongue.

Then it sinks in.

The blood is tasteless indeed, but upon reaching his stomach, Thomas feels warmth spreading all over him, right from his toes to the very tips of his hair. And it’s really comfortable, like going home after a particularly gruelling day at training. He has never felt something like this after drinking blood before. And before he knows it, he finds himself wanting to feel that sensation again, _yearning_ to have it for the rest of his life.

And it’s just like Manuel, he realizes. The goalkeeper never comes off as someone who’s particularly interesting at first glance (aside from his height and goalkeeping prowess and magical abilities, of course). He’s shy and introverted, and it has taken Thomas months to break his shell. However, right now Manuel is the exact definition of “home” he always looks for.

Without further ado, Thomas grabs his boyfriend and pulls him closer. Manuel doesn’t say anything, but positions himself in a way to expose his whole throat to Thomas, inviting the vampire to drink. Normally, Thomas would’ve pushed him away and yelled at him to stay away, but right now the vampire’s mind is completely clouded by thirst and his burning desire to feel the comforting warmth again.

So he leans forward, and bites Manuel on his throat.

The bite is rough, and Manuel can’t help wincing a bit as Thomas’ fangs pierces his skin for the first time, but he stays quiet, his free hand stroking Thomas’ messy curls gently. He has read Thomas’ mind and knows how his blood tasted for the vampire, and he’s glad to see Thomas drinking so heartily, colours starting to return to his face and Manuel swears he’s not only imagining the warmth seeping through Thomas’ usually cold fingers.

After a while, Thomas finally lets go of his throat and licks at the wound, which heals immediately as if by magic. His lips are still flecked with Manuel’s blood, but otherwise he looks normal, as bright and healthy as he can possibly be. And there’s some dim glow on him, a glow that Manuel’s sure is never there whenever the vampire drinks blood previously.

“Thank you,” Thomas mumbles, looking away. He still feels guilty for drinking Manuel’s blood, but he’d be lying if he said he’s not happy now.

Manuel wraps his arm tightly around the lanky vampire and gives him a kiss, not caring about the condition of Thomas’ mouth. “Next time, whenever you’re thirsty, just drink from me. Don’t torture yourself anymore like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some additional headcanons regarding the three vampires of Germany NT that I wrote just because I can:
> 
> \- Marc dislikes packed blood or synthesized blood, so every time he really craves fresh human blood, he will drink from any willing teammates (he likes variety anyway). He still thinks Bernd's blood tastes the best, though.
> 
> \- Thomas used to drink from his teammates too back then, but after tasting Manuel's blood, he never wants anything else. Thankfully, Manu is all too willing to become his personal feeder. Thomas still drinks packed blood or synthesized blood, but only when Manu's not around.
> 
> \- Philipp is allergic to the synthesized blood, so he only drinks packed ones. Per's the only one he ever drinks directly from.
> 
> And goodness, I just realized that the first three stories I posted here are all about vampires. I promise you the next one will be different!
> 
> Comments and constructive criticisms are highly appreciated!


	4. when being normal is underrated (schweinski)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastian wishes he can have a superpower.
> 
> Lukas wishes he can be normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the ultimate pairing, Schweinski!
> 
> I spent a lot of time thinking what kind of story would suit them and ended up with this.
> 
> This turned out more angsty that I had hoped, so forgive me if it's not your cup of tea.
> 
> Set sometime during 2015-2016 season, when Basti's playing in Manchester United and Lukas is in Galatasaray.
> 
> Warning: English is not my mother language so sorry for any mistakes.

Being a completely normal human in an extremely superpowered team like German National Team sometimes feels more like a curse than not, Bastian thinks.

And even more so if you happen to be the captain of the said team.

As far as he can remember, the previous captains of the national team always possess some kind of power, or is a supernatural creature themselves. Oliver Kahn is able to alter the size of his own body (the legendary keeper wasn’t nicknamed ‘Der Titan’ for nothing). Michael Ballack can negate any kind of superpowers for an undetermined amount of time (it is said that the newfound restriction bracelets each contain a bit of Micha’s powers, the ones produced in Germany at least). And Philipp Lahm, well, no explanation needed for the tiny vampire.

So Basti really doesn’t understand why the captain armband was given to him upon Philipp’s retirement from the national team. Not only he doesn’t possess any kind of superpowers whatsoever, but he also doesn’t view himself as “captain material”. There are people whom Basti perceives as more competent of handling the team than him – Manuel, for example, with his oh-so-powerful magic, no other words needed. Or Mesut, with his peaceful aura that may come in handy whenever there's a fight. Or maybe even Thomas, who may look nothing more than a chatty, happy-go-lucky vampire at first glance but actually possesses quick thinking and capability to embrace anyone from any club, position, or age group.

Oh, Basti does everything that’s required of him as a captain. He greets the newer players and helps them to settle down in the team. He discusses tactics and the dynamic of the team with the coaches. He leads the team out of the tunnel during matches and shakes hand with the refs and the other team’s captain. But no matter how many people have praised him and his style of captaincy, Basti can never shake the thought that he’s decidedly inferior compared to the past captains.

And the international breaks never fail to fuel his sense of inadequacy. For example, when they held initiation night for the players who were freshly called to the national team, and Manuel’s new crown prince from Leverkusen (who seemed shy and taciturn at first but Basti had caught him exchanging death glares with a certain Barcelona keeper) provided such a beautiful light show reminiscent to the aurora borealis, and Basti couldn’t help thinking how cool it is to be able to create something like that. Or whenever a fight breaks out between two superpowered players, and Basti can never do anything more than shutting it out with some words and then sending them to Jogi, or at most, forcing the guilty parties to spend a few hours in the null-effect room.

But despite of everything, Basti’s always glad to get a call-up to the national team, though. There’s something different in wearing your country’s crest on your chest instead of your club’s, especially when knowing that you just took part in adding the fourth star on it. There’s also a distinction in the overall atmosphere, probably because the people in the national team are completely different ones than the people Basti sees every day in Manchester, or because in here he can speak freely in his mother tongue.

And of course, the international breaks always give him the opportunity to meet Lukas.

Despite of committing themselves fully to long-distance relationship and video-calls each other on daily basis, there’s nothing compared to meeting the love of his life in person, Basti thinks. He hates it that Fate always seems to will his Lukas away from him, that it’s hard for them to play in the same _country_ , let alone the same club. And therefore, the thought of seeing Lukas again after what feels like forever just thrills him to the core.

So, Basti is in a pretty good mood when he finally reaches the hotel where the team has gathered. He has had a long talk with Lukas last night, both expressing their desire and longing towards each other. Lukas is supposed to have arrived earlier this morning, so Basti checks his phone to see whether Lukas has texted him to meet the striker wherever he is right now.

No text from Lukas. Frowning, Basti scrolls through the chat to make sure he doesn’t miss anything, but Lukas really hasn’t said anything about his whereabouts to Basti. He hasn’t even read Basti’s “ _Good morning <3_” that the midfielder has sent earlier, which is unusual for him. Moreover, when Basti tries to call Lukas, though the call itself is connected, there’s no answer from the other end of the line.

“Hi, Basti,” Mesut greets him rather cautiously, probably upon seeing the frown in Basti’s face. “Is there something wrong??”

“Mes, do you know where Lukas is right now??” Basti knows he probably sounds kind of rude, but he’s just extremely worried about Lukas, and besides he just met Mesut a few weeks ago during a game in which Arsenal trashed Manchester United 3-0.

Mesut bites his lower lip, certainly unsure what to say, but a passing Toni who has heard Basti’s question just answers in his rather nonchalant way, “I think he’s in the null-effect room.”

All colours drain out of Basti’s face (not that he ever has many at first place) and he grabs the arms of the Real Madrid midfielder, shaking him violently. “How?? Why?? What happened??”

Toni winces at Basti’s grip and tries to shake himself away. “Ouch, you may want to loosen it up a bit. That hurts, you kn-“

“I have no time for that, Kroos!” Basti almost yells, earning himself some looks from the passerbys, not that he cares about it right now. “Just tell me what happened, and what did he do to earn that kind of punishment??”

From the corner of his eye, Basti can see Mesut raising his hand hesitantly, probably considering to use his calmness-inducing power on Basti but the captain swiftly jerks aside to avoid it and gives Mesut a glare that means “Don’t you dare”. Taking the hint, the Arsenal midfielder quickly drops his hand and says, “He accidentally disintegrated the whole wing where we’re supposed to stay in. Don’t worry, no one’s harmed, and Hansi has taken care of everything, but Jogi thought that Lukas needs to be contained for now. Until when, I don’t know.”

“And the null-effect room is located on the back of this hotel, near the swimming pool,” Toni adds, certainly having learned that the faster he gives Basti the information needed, the faster the circulation in his arms can be restored.

Basti’s mind goes blank as he wordlessly releases Toni. The Real Madrid midfielder rubs his arms and mutters, “Damn, for someone without superpower, you do have a mean grip,” but Basti doesn’t hear anything, can’t even _think_ about anything, only running as fast as he can towards the direction his two teammates have pointed out to him.

Lukas, as everyone who knows him would agree, possesses one of the strongest superpowers Basti has ever known – the ability to collapse things into dust. He doesn’t even need to touch the specific object to do that, just _thinking_ of it will accomplish the task immediately. But Lukas’ ability is highly unstable. Basti has heard that the first time Lukas manifested that power, he had caused the whole Köln academy and training ground to crumble into nothingness. And Basti knows if only Lukas wasn’t such a good footballer, both the club and the national team would probably think that he’s more trouble than he’s worth and therefore not bother themselves with helping him controlling his power.

Lukas has never unveiled the details on how he managed to suppress his power, especially during those times when restriction bracelet hasn’t been invented and the null-effect room wasn’t as much developed as it is now. But Basti remembers that back then during the 2006 World Cup, Klinsi had made Micha stay close to Lukas most of the time, and even forced Lukas to sleep in a makeshift room with spells written in runes all over the walls.

So yeah, Basti understands how potentially destructive Lukas’ power may come to be. But it’s been years since they last had an accident like that, and Lukas is always careful in handling his own power, Basti even doubts whether he ever _uses_ it on purpose at first place. How did Lukas manage to lose control of it out of the blue??

It doesn’t take him long to find the null-effect room. It’s shaped like a big bunker made out of steel, and it can’t look even more conspicuous and out-of-place, standing there in the middle of the hotel garden. Probably some illusion is placed there so that the outsiders won’t be able to see it, but Basti’s mind can’t comprehend such things right now. He approaches the room, yanks the door open, and enters.

Lukas is there, sitting against the wall, his knees brought to his face. Even from the door Basti can see that he’s crying, his whole body trembling as silent tears run down his face. Seeing him like this, Basti can’t find the Germany star striker who has amazed the whole world during the last three World Cups. Instead he just sees Lukas Podolski, a broken man with barely controllable power which he himself is afraid of.

And the sight wrenches Basti’s heart.

Quietly, Basti closes the door behind him and approaches Lukas. He has heard from the others that whenever they enter this room, they always feel like their life force is being drained out of them, but Basti supposes since he possesses no superpower whatsoever, the room also has no effect on him. He gently untangles Lukas’ limbs before pulling the younger man into a hug.

Normally, Lukas and Basti are the moodmakers of the team. They always laugh together, they share jokes together, they prank their teammates together. But for once right now, there’s no words or laughs exchanged between them.

Lukas immediately latches onto Basti like a koala, crying his eyes out into the captain’s shirt. Basti embraces him with all his might, running his hand through Lukas’ short hair gently. He wants to say a lot of things – how everything is going to be fine, how he will stay with Lukas no matter what, how he understands Lukas didn’t mean to do whatever he’d just done, but he also knows Lukas is not in any condition to listen at first place. So Basti just hugs him tighter and tighter each time, letting his shirt soak in Lukas’ tears and wishing that he can take at least half of his boyfriend’s pain away.

After awhile, Lukas finally manages to tear himself away slightly from Basti. His eyes are red and puffy, and his lower lip still trembles, but otherwise he’s considerably calmed down.

“I messed up,” Lukas mumbles into Basti’s neck, voice hoarse after crying.

“No, you didn’t, Luki,” Basti disagrees, still stroking Lukas’ hair.

“No, I really did!” A tear again escaped Lukas’ eye. “What if that particular wing hadn’t been reserved for us?? What if someone had been there?? I could’ve _killed_ them, Basti!! And Hansi might be able to fix the building and all, but we know he can’t raise the dead, and…”

“But you _didn’t_ kill anyone, and that’s all that matters! And I’m sure Jogi and his team has done all they can to hide everything from the whole world! Stop blaming yourself. You know accidents like this tend to happen, especially in a highly superpowered team like ours…”

“Not _this_ big,” Lukas insists. “And something like this has never happened to me since…I don’t know, a few months after 2006 World Cup…? What if after this they decide that I’m too much of a hassle?? We are getting older as well, Basti, there are lots of other younger and more talented players to choose for the Euro and…”

Basti kisses him.

It’s a rather careless, sloppy one, and Basti knows they’ve had better kisses than this but right now he just wants Lukas to stop blaming himself for everything, to understand that sometimes things just go out of control and they can’t do anything about it, to know that he’s precious for both the national team and Basti, and _please please please just understand that I love you and I’m worried about you and I’m just glad you’re here with me and unharmed_.

Thankfully, Lukas seems to get the hint on everything Basti is trying to convey, because he kisses Basti back rather desperately, hands grabbing Basti’s face with slightly more force than necessary. It hurts a bit, but Basti doesn’t complain, he’s only too glad because he knows Lukas _understands_ , and while he knows they’re probably going to talk about this again in more depth later, at least for now he’s managed to calm his boyfriend down.

They only break apart when they each need to take a breath.

“You know, sometimes I’m jealous of you, Basti,” Lukas murmurs, his head lying against Basti’s naked torso (for Basti has taken off his shirt after it got too wet from Lukas’ tears).

“Because of what, exactly??” Basti asks, again running a hand through Lukas’ hair.

“Because you’re _normal_. And I’m glad you are.”

Basti’s hand stills a bit in his motion as his brain registers Lukas’ words, and then replays them, again and again.

He never knows before that Lukas feels that way. Sure, he knows the dynamic of their relationship sometimes confuses people – Lukas with his highly destructive power, and Basti having none at all, but honestly Basti never thinks of them that way. For him, Lukas is just _Lukas_ , his best friend, soulmate, and love of his life, and Basti knows he’ll be happy with Lukas regardless of the striker’s superpower. Basti also gets that Lukas loves him just the way he is, and his lack of superpower has never been a sore point in their relationship. They even barely talk about it at all whenever they’re together! So yeah, it’s understandable that Basti had no idea about Lukas’ feelings about it, and come to think of it, he never tells Lukas that he sometimes wishes he possesses some power, too.

It’s ironic, Basti thinks. Here he is, jealous of his superpowered friends and wants to be at their place, and there is Lukas, who will give anything to be normal.

But then again, probably Lukas won’t feel that way if his power is one of the milder ones, like Mesut’s, or Toni’s, or Bernd’s.

Basti doesn’t tell Lukas about that, or anything else that just passed his mind at that moment. That may spark some debate between them, and Basti knows it’s the last thing Lukas needs right now. So he just leans his and Lukas’ forehead together and speaks softly, “If normal is what you’re looking for, then I will be the sense of…normalcy you need in your life.”

He can see the relief flooding in Lukas’ eyes, and the striker buries his face against Basti’s neck again, hugging the captain tightly. Basti hugs him back, planting soft kisses on Lukas’ hair, hoping that it’s enough to give Lukas the comfort he needs.

Perhaps he will never be able to completely get rid of his sense of inferiority for being one of the few non-superpowered people in the national team. But right now he has Lukas in his life, Lukas who loves him for being normal, Lukas who _needs_ him so in order to inject a feeling of normalcy in the younger’s otherwise almost-messed up life.

And Basti thinks he can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some additional informations:
> 
>   * Hansi is Hans-Dieter Flick, Bayern’s current coach and DFB’s sporting director in those days. His power is event negation, meaning he’s able to “undo” any event that just happened within the last 24 hours and restore it to its previous state as if it never occurred at first place. He can’t reverse death, though.
>   * Mesut’s ability is to induce a feeling of serenity. Normally, he can only do it by the touch of his hand and to one person at a time, but during extreme situations, he’ll ask for help from Sami, whose own ability is power-enhancing, thus enabling Mesut to spread a peaceful atmosphere to many people at once.
> 

> 
> Oh yeah, I also plan to write other one-shots about some more pairings in German NT in this universe (Samisut, Götzeus, etc), so if you have a request about them, or what kind of superpower they should possess, let me know!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appeciated!


	5. the grand sorcerer and the apprentice (miroslav klose & manuel neuer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Manuel Neuer is a talented and powerful wizard in his own right, but he can’t deceive Miroslav Klose to save his life. Miroslav Klose, the Grand Sorcerer himself. Miroslav Klose, the one who taught Manuel everything he knows about magic and spells._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, I had wanted to explore how Manuel turned out to be such a powerful wizard, and to include my first love in football, Miroslav Klose, in this series, and that's how this story was born!
> 
> Featuring: Grand Sorcerer!Miro and apprentice!Manuel. There's also minor Neuller and Steno if you squint.
> 
> Set sometime on 2017, when Miro is part of the national team's coaching staffs and between Manuel's two episodes of metatarsal fractures. I don't know whether there's international break during that time and if there is, whether Manu got called to the national team, but ssshhh, let's pretend.
> 
> Warning: English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes!

When Miro walks down to breakfast this morning, Jogi is already there on the table reserved for the trainers, talking animatedly with Andi.

“Morning, Miro,” Jogi greets him brightly. “Come sit here and join us.”

“Morning Mr. Löw, Mr. Kopke,” Miro answers politely. “And yes, of course, I just need to get my breakfast first.”

Jogi only laughs. “We are fellow trainers now, no need to address me like that! Just call me Jogi, like the others.”

Miro only smiles and goes to grab his breakfast, while wondering what makes Jogi such in a good mood today. While he’s mostly calm and collected enough, especially when the fact that he coaches ~~a bunch of superpowered kindergarteners~~ one of the best national teams in the whole world is taken into account, Jogi usually has this wary look on his face, as if anticipating that sooner or later, one of his kids will end up burning their training camp down, no matter how many magical barriers and precautions have been placed around it. Careful not to look into Jogi’s eyes so as not to make his intentions known, he quickly takes a peek into the senior trainer’s mind.

_Manuel is back today. Should I play him or ter Stegen in the next game?_

Miro frowns at what he hears, and he looks at the other side of the dining room. Manuel is indeed there, sitting with Thomas, Mats, and Benedikt, talking and laughing with them, and the frown lines on Miro’s forehead go deeper.

He knows Manuel has just recovered from metatarsal fracture, and though his condition has been cleared by the team doctor, Miro thinks Jogi should’ve given the keeper a chance to return to his full fitness first instead of playing him straight away. Besides it’s just a friendly, and the result of it won’t hurt their chances to appear in the upcoming World Cup or something, and it’s not like Germany is strapped for a keeper either.

As if realizing that someone’s staring at him, Manuel raises his head and looks at Miro. Their eyes meet for one-nth second before Manuel quickly turns at Benedikt and says something, and the now Juventus defender rolls his eyes. But apparently, Benedikt does end up doing whatever Manuel requests him to do, since when Miro tries to reach the keeper telepathically, he finds nothing in Manuel’s mind, nothing except an elastic yet strong blue wall that Miro recognizes as Benedikt’s mental shield.

Miro frowns some more.

-

The training goes pretty well today, if Miro may say so. Jogi assigns him to take care of the younger players and Miro enjoys it – they're still determined and wishing to impress the coaches, so they always do their best, and Miro gives them a few honest praises. After letting them go earlier (since Miro can't find any reasons to give them extra laps or whatever), Miro goes to the other side of the pitch, joining Jogi and the others.

Andi is working with the goalkeeping squad as usual, pairing up with Manuel, while Marc-André pairs up with Bernd. The two younger goalkeepers do all their training drills while exchanging death glares towards each other all the way, but as far as Miro can see, they're doing everything right anyhow, so probably that's why Andi just lets them be. Besides, now that everyone knows about the two keepers' slightly dysfunctional yet _working_ relationship, Andi might not have the heart to separate them at first place.

Then Miro looks at Manuel and he can feel his eyes narrow.

Manuel does everything perfectly, as expected from a world-class goalkeeper like some people might say. Every jump he makes is flawless, every ball thrown or kicked to him is caught properly, every move he does is impeccable. In fact, seeing him right now, Miro can barely believe that he just recovered from a longtime injury that might've risked his career at one point or another.

“He's good, isn't he??” beside Miro, Jogi says, voice full of admiration towards his star keeper. “I have to say, I had a little doubt earlier regarding whether I should call him for this break after his injury, but as always, Neuer isn't likely to disappoint. In fact, I think he should start in goal tomorrow, don't you think? It's as if he never got injured at first place.”

_As if he never got injured at first place_.

Miro's eyes shoot open and he looks at Manuel with disbelief. He can't possibly…the keeper won't risk doing something like that, right?? But as Miro closes his eyes and concentrates, he can feel it on the air, though extremely faint that Miro is sure only he himself is able to detect it – the smell of freshly mown grass on the pitch, the waft of salty air around Lake Tegernsee, and a scent of shampoo that Miro later knows is the one Thomas always uses on his hair.

And only now does Miro realize that Manuel is doing everything he can to avoid Miro's gaze. He talks to Andi, he focuses on the training routines, he even says something to his two understudies that makes them blush hard to their roots. But he never spares a glance towards the spot where Miro and Jogi are standing next to each other.

Miro takes a deep breath. Part of him wants to get there at once and drags Manuel out of the pitch and probably even takes him to the Council right away, but Miro’s never been one who likes to attract attention. Besides he knows that if this gets to the Council, there’s no guarantee that Miro himself won’t get prosecuted as well. So he stands there and waits until Jogi declares that the training's over and dismisses everyone.

Manuel immediately gathers his things and walks in ridiculously long steps towards the dressing room, but Miro manages to catch up with the keeper right before he gets in. “Manuel?? Can I talk to you for awhile, please??”

Miro can see Manuel’s face freezes for one-nth second before the keeper nods, certainly not wishing to make scene by blatantly defying his own coach in front of the other players. Quietly he follows Miro to an empty meeting room and closes the door behind him.

Once there’s just the two of them inside the room, Miro gestures for Manuel to sit in front of him. But he doesn’t say anything right away, instead he just keeps his gaze fixed at Manuel without uttering a single word for some time. He watches in slight satisfaction as Manuel tries to keep his composure for awhile, but later gives up and starts fidgeting nervously under Miro’s piercing, grey-blue stare.

As Miro has hoped, eventually the keeper breaks the silence first.

“What do you want from me, Miro? Is it something about the upcoming match? Or about the team? Are any of the kids having troubles with their playing or their power or something?”

A good opening, and good questions as well. Not that Miro expects any less from Manuel. But Miro is also smart enough to understand that Manuel actually has known, or at least suspected the _exact_ reason Miro called him here, and therefore avoids asking about it at all cost. Smiling internally at himself, Miro decides to get to the point.

“Actually it’s not either of them,” Miro replies, as lightly as possible as if they’re just discussing the weather outside. “I wish to talk about your training earlier.”

He can see Manuel’s body stiffen, and when the keeper speaks again, his tone low, almost defensive, “There’s no problem with my training, isn’t there?? Besides, Jogi is pleased with my performance and has said that he wants me to play in the upcoming game and…”

“Sure, there’s no problem with the training itself,” Miro agrees, still keeping his tone light and cheerful. “However, the means by which you achieve such perfection in training can be a bit of a problem, don’t you think?”

He knows he’s hit the bullseye as he watches Manuel’s face slowly grows paler by each second, then the keeper’s fingers start to shake, his mouth open as if he wishes to say something but can’t. In fact, right now Manuel looks more like a schoolboy who just got caught violating school rules, instead of Germany's number one goalkeeper.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Manuel finally speaks, eyes glued tightly to the table, and Miro can hear a spark of stubbornness lying behind those curt words.

“Oh, but you did,” Miro says, finally dropping his act, and he can see Manuel wincing at his sudden change of tone. “I know what you did on the training ground back then, Manu. And I really think it would be better for you to admit it to me, right here, right now, instead of continuing all this bullshit which might end up with you being taken to the Council. And goodness knows how much I can help you there, despite of my title and position and all.”

He can see Manuel’s defence falling, and he would've smiled if not for the situation. He doesn’t even need to use mind-binding spell to know what’s going on inside the keeper’s blonde head right now. Manuel Neuer is a talented and powerful wizard in his own right, but he can’t deceive Miroslav Klose to save his life. Miroslav Klose, the Grand Sorcerer himself. Miroslav Klose, the one who taught Manuel everything he knows about magic and spells.

So, after what feels like hours, Manuel finally answers, voice shaky and eyes still downcast, “I used magic to improve my performance during training earlier.”

Miro leans back on his chair, both his face and voice unreadable as he slowly responds, “Alright, and why did you do so??”

“Because I don’t want Jogi to see my dismal performance after the injury, and think that I’m not good enough.”

“And why don’t you want Jogi to think so??”

“Because I don’t want to lose my position as the starting keeper in the national team.”

For a few seconds, no one says anything. Manuel doesn’t dare to raise his eyes to meet Miro’s yet, but he can feel that the atmosphere’s not as tense as before.

“Thank you for being honest to me, Manu,” Miro’s voice is soft, but Manuel winces again as he notices an unmistakable tone of disappointment behind it. “And I have to say, it’s a great presentation of magic, though not in the way I expect you to use it, as I’m sure you’ve known.”

“I know,” Manuel whispers. Despite of what he’s done, he always hates letting Miro down, and he mentally kicks himself for falling into temptations of his personal demons earlier.

“Therefore, as your mentor, it’s my duty to punish you,” Miro continues. “It might be a bit painful, but it’s nothing compared to whatever the Council could do. Give me your hand, Manu.”

Manuel wordlessly reaches out his right hand to Miro. Miro’s strong fingers grab his wrist, almost twisting it, and then a burning pain stabs into Manuel's hand, so hot and painful that he has to grit his teeth tightly to keep himself from screaming. When Miro lets go, Manuel can see something that resembles burn marks all over his right wrist, only those marks are shaped like chains.

“That would keep you from doing magic, any kind of magic, for two weeks,” Miro says, voice tight, and Manuel's suddenly washed with horror as he realizes that this punishment hurts his mentor as much as it does to him. “If you try, you’re going to be struck with the worst pain imaginable. And don’t you ever try to find ways to erase the marks, Manu. I would know.”

“I won't,” Manuel murmurs, voice subdued. “Look, I'm so, so, sorry, Miro… I didn't mean to disappoint you, I swear… I was just…”

“Tempted, I know,” Miro finishes sadly, and Manuel feels something clench at his heart at Miro's tone. “It's easy to fall into such things, to let magic make our lives easier in many ways. However, the power to resist the allurement, the power not to let our magic define our lives…that's what you need to have in order to become a great wizard, Manu. You're good, but you still have lots to learn. And you still have a long way to go before you can ever _think_ of taking over my position.”

Manuel doesn't answer, and Miro makes his way to the door and walks out.

-

Miro is walking back to his hotel room when Jogi approaches him.

“What did you talk about with Neuer earlier??” the senior trainer demands, worry clear on his face.

“Nothing very important,” Miro answers calmly. “However, I think you should consider playing Leno or ter Stegen in goal tomorrow instead.”

“Huh??” Jogi asks, confused. “Why?? You saw Neuer in training, he did well and…”

Miro simply stares at Jogi, a small smile playing on his lips. “Trust me, Jogi.”

And with those words Miro leaves, but not before catching a mixture of anger and fear flashing inside Jogi's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background information regarding this story:
> 
>   * Miro is one of the most powerful wizards in the whole Germany, hence the title Grand Sorcerer.
>   * Miro met Manu for the first time when Manu was still in Schalke academy, and recognized his magical talent right away. After some deliberation (and a lot of begging from Manu), Miro took him as an apprentice and had become his mentor ever since.
>   * Miro’s actually a lot older than the official records say. He’s not immortal, but he ages slower than normal humans. No one knows his real age, but Jogi once said he’s younger than Miro.
>   * There’s a Council in every country whose main job is to protect all supers and make sure the existence of supers remains hidden. One of their main rule is for supers to avoid using their power in their day job at all cost, and violation of this rule might bring severe consequences. (There’s some grey area in that rule, though).
>   * The scent Miro caught (freshly mown grass, salty air around Lake Tegernsee, Thomas’ shampoo) is Manuel’s Trace. Every wizard has a Trace that’s usually left behind every time they use magic, and it’s different for every wizard, usually according to what attracts them.
> 

> 
> Hope you like this story. Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	6. Firsts (Germany NT/Gen, minor Steno, minor Götzeus, minor Hömmels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany NT players tell the stories about the first time they manifested their respective powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I need a reason to dump all my headcanons about Germany NT players and their powers, therefore this chapter is born XD
> 
> And I didn't mean to include Steno in the end but they seem to worm their way into my life at all times *cries*
> 
> Set sometime before Euro 2016, I guess. If there are certain players in this story who have yet to be called during those period then my apologies. Hope you still enjoy it though.
> 
> Warning: English isn't my first language.

“Let’s talk about our ‘first’.”

All eyes look at Manuel who suddenly bursts that topic out of nowhere. The younger players, understandably, are confused as they have yet to be familiar with that term.

“’First’?” Joshua asks, scratching his head. “What do you mean?”

“The first time you guys manifested your powers, of course,” Manuel explains.

If anything, Joshua only looks even more confused. “And why do you need to ask us about it? I mean, do you need some kind of demonstration or…”

“It’s nothing, Jo,” Bastian sighs, “and no, you won’t be required to do any kind of demonstration, I can assure you. It’s just part of the National Team Talk,” and everyone can hear the capital letters on it, “and some people think it helps us to understand each other better, but it’s not compulsory, and if you’re not comfortable talking about it, you don’t need to.”

“Well said, captain,” Thomas nods in approval.

“Oh,” Joshua looks visibly relieved. “I see. Well, yeah. I can do that, I guess.”

“Alright, so who’s starting?” Manuel asks, looking around.

There’s a few seconds of silence as everyone looks at one another, certainly not expecting to start themselves before Lukas finally speaks out, his tone neutral, “I think everyone has known about mine, and I don’t like recalling the details, so I’m out.”

“And I’m as normal as you can possibly expect, so I don’t have any cool stories to tell you either,” Bastian says just as nonchalantly, but not before squeezing Lukas’ hand. “But if we’re having this convo, we have to start with someone. Leon, maybe?”

The Schalke midfielder looks a bit bashful when his captain points straight at him, but he obliges anyway. “Uhm, mine isn’t very interesting actually,” he says, running his hand through his curls. “I, uhm, when I was twelve, I happened to touch an iron pole during my walk to school and…and my hand turned into iron as well. That’s all.”

Thomas laughs. “Really?? That’s all? You didn’t freak out or anything??”

“Kinda,” Leon admits, “but my father’s a super as well, so it’s not something that’s particularly new for me. And no, I’m not revealing _his_ power!”

Everyone laughs at that, but to Leon’s relief, they don’t prod further. If there’s one good thing about German National Team, it’s that they fully respect everyone’s secret – well, one that involves their powers, at least. They’re all on the same plane in this matter. They – well, most of them – all know how it feels to be supers, how it affects their daily life and so forth, and it’s fully accepted to keep one or two things about your powers. Well, as long as it doesn’t affect the team in a negative way, as Jogi is so fond of saying.

“Alright, thank you Leon,” Manuel nods at the midfielder. “Now, Niklas?”

Compared to Leon, the tall defender looks considerably more eager, as if he’s been waiting all his life to tell the others about his ‘first’. “Ah, mine happened when I was ten or so,” he says, a rather dreamy look on his face. “One kid threw a chair at me at school and then…well. My armor just appeared out of nowhere, and thanks to it I still live to tell this tale.”

“Seriously??” Mats asks, laughing again. “Somebody even _dared_ to throw a chair at you? Haven’t you always been big and scary, even when you’re still a kid?? No offense though.”

“Probably that’s the exact reason why that kid threw a chair at him,” Benni points out. “He couldn’t possibly punch Niklas in the face.”

“True,” Mats concedes. “And how was everyone’s reaction?”

Niklas shrugs. “Freaking out, running away, same old. Thank goodness my teacher’s actually a witch, and she managed to get everything under control before it went too bad, and some people from the Council came afterwards to check on me, but that’s that.”

“Yeah, that happens to everyone, I guess,” Mario (Götze) nods sagely. “Only in my case, I went to the Council myself. Because I understood that normal humans aren’t capable of pinpointing exactly where everyone is at all times.”

Thomas snorts. “ _Normal_ humans. You’re talking as if being a super is bad, Mario.”

“I never said that.”

“How about you, Leroy?” Bastian hastily interjects before Thomas can launch into a long sermon regarding the normalcy of being a vampire and so forth. “How’s your ‘first’?”

Leroy blinks rather amusedly at the question. “What are you talking about? I have no power.”

“Wait, what, really??” Mesut exclaims, staring at the young winger in wonder. “You have no power?”

Leroy shakes his head. “Nothing at all. I’m as ordinary as a sheet of paper.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t,” Julian (Draxler) confirms. “I can vouch that I feel nothing on him.”

Bastian looks sheepish. “I’m sorry, Leroy,” he mutters apologetically. “I always thought you possess super speed or something, and…”

The Schalker who’s soon transferring to Manchester City only laughs good-naturedly. “It’s okay. You’re not the first one to make that assumption about me, but I assure you, though I may be a little faster compared to…some of you, it’s not a superpower or something.”

Mats snorts. “’Some of you’, huh?? And here I thought you’re actually being humble, Leroy.”

“Just stating the truth.”

“It’s okay, Mats,” Benni says soothingly, patting his boyfriend’s back. “You may be a little slow, but I still love you anyway…”

“……Is that supposed to cheer me up or what??”

“Alright, alright, save your lovers’ quarrel for later,” Jérôme interrupts, rolling his eyes. “We still have a long way to go if we want everyone to have their turn. Next!”

“Mine happened when I was five,” Marc-André says.

Everyone stares at the Barcelona keeper as if he just told them all that he’s going to score a hat-trick on their next match. “What do you mean??” Marco asks incredulously. “You’re a _vampire_ , you’re fucking _born_ as one, Marc. Or is there something about vampire physiology that I don’t understand?”

“No, I mean I first realized I’m a vampire when I was five,” Marc-André corrects himself. “When I noticed that the stuff my mom always put in my cup was not tomato juice, but actual blood.”

A loud snort echoes from the corner of the room, and everyone turns their heads to see Bernd, who looks totally unimpressed. “Seriously??” the Leverkusen keeper scoffs at his counterpart. “It took you five years to even figure out what you are?? It’s almost a fucking miracle that you even manage to find the ball during games, you blind bat…”

“At least I get to play, unlike _someone_ ,” Marc-André retorts back instantly, and a satisfied smirk creeps over his face as splotches of red start to take over Bernd’s pale cheeks, and the slightly older keeper rises from his seat.

“You take that back, you second-rate keeper…”

Manuel, thankfully, has the grace to stand up and stop his two understudies before things get ugly. “You two. Stop it. And start acting like _respectable_ adults or I will have to fucking talk to Jogi to have you two removed from the national team. _Forever_.”

Marc-André rolls his eyes, but finally leans back on his seat, though his glare’s still directed at Bernd. “Well, what about you yourself??” he retorts. “Your ‘first’, I mean. Go on, enlighten us.”

“Oh, I can assure you, it’s so damn _enlightening_ indeed,” Bernd remarks smugly, and Marc-André silently curses himself for his unintended pun – he’s forgotten for a second there that the other keeper is a light elemental. “I was born bursting with light, literally.”

There’s another moment of silence as everyone digests Bernd’s words.

“Wait, really?” Mario asks in disbelief. “You mean you’ve manifested your power ever since you’re born?? That’s extremely rare, no?”

“It is,” Bernd agrees, “but my brother did as well, so it might run in the genes or something. His power happens to be invisibility, and my parents told me that not long after he was born, he just disappeared from his cot, causing everyone to panic and all, while in truth he’s still there, they just couldn’t see him. So when I was born that way, they’re of course surprised, but not that shocked. And thankfully, since that incident with my brother, my parents made sure that the doctors and midwives who helped my birth were supers too.”

Marc-André scoffs. “I don’t believe you. Show us some proof.”

Everyone stares at the two keepers again warily, certainly expecting some more heated fight, but Bernd simply pulls out his phone and scrolls through it. “Here,” he says, tossing his phone towards Marc-André. “I have my birth photos scanned and stored in there.”

“Weirdo,” Marc-André mutters but catches it rather easily anyway thanks to his vampire/goalkeeper reflex. “Who actually save their birth photos in their phones? Only you, and that’s because you’re an anomaly to nature.”

“And that’s a pretty brave thing to do as well,” Toni quickly cuts in before Bernd can say anything. “If someone – someone who has no idea about us, I mean – sees it, you’re screwed.”

“Thank goodness I play in Germany, then, and all my teammates and closest friends have pretty much known about me,” Bernd shrugs. “And I do it because I’ve pretty much expected this talk to happen, and Stefan has told me that you guys probably won’t believe me if I don’t provide some proofs. Now go on, see it yourself.”

By now, half the team is already behind Marc-André, eager to see Bernd’s baby photos themselves. The Barcelona keeper rolls his eyes and opens the folder where Bernd keeps them, though he tells himself that he can’t care less about it. He can’t even handle seeing that prick every day during international breaks, why would he want to see baby Bernd?? That asshat might look like a fucking potato anyway.

But then the photo opens up and he can feel his jaw falling open.

Despite of it being a _baby_ , Marc-André could clearly see that it’s Bernd – blue eyes, thin lips, tufts of dark blonde hair on the top of his head. And to Marc-André’s disappointment – and minor _delight?_ Wait what?? – the baby doesn’t look like a potato. No, he actually looks _cute_. But indeed, despite of the slightly bad quality of the photo, they can see that the baby’s skin is somewhat…different.

The baby is _glowing_. Like, literally glowing in a white sheen, bright enough to be noticed but not to obscure his features. And Marc-André honestly has never seen anything so mesmerizing.

“Whoa,” Thomas exclaims from his place on Marc-André’s shoulder. “You really aren’t lying about this. It’s really cool.”

Bernd smirks. “Told you guys.”

Marc-André can’t speak. He wants to say something, _anything_ , to insult his rival, and he can feel Bernd’s eyes trained on him, certainly expecting him to do so. But for once in his life, he has nothing to say. Probably because there’s nothing bad he can actually sprout out about baby Bernd, or maybe he doesn’t even _want_ to do so. Either way, he remains quiet.

Thankfully, the other players are too caught up in the photos to notice Marc-André’s sudden silence, and soon Bernd’s phone is snatched from his hand (he’s too distracted to notice the perpetrator, but he suspects it’s Thomas) as everyone engages in a minor squabble to see baby Bernd themselves. And Bernd, after throwing him some curious looks, simply stomps away to reclaim his phone, and soon they settle back to their main conversation.

But while each player shares their respective stories one by one, followed by comments and mockeries from the others, like when Joshua recounts the story of meeting his biological father (“No offense, Jo, but who’s your father again? Are you sure he’s not the God of Peace instead?”), or when Marco recalls growing wings suddenly when he was nine (“I’m sure you looked so pretty at that time, Marco.” “Oh no, Mario, it was really silly, since only my wings grew out, you see, the rest of my body remained the same, so they couldn’t exactly make me fly.”), and then Toni mentions about how he inadvertently caused his brother to get sick for a week thanks to his poison (“Damn, Toni, I’ve always known you have a sadistic streak in you.” “That was an _accident_ , Müller.”), Marc-André still can’t find it in his heart to join the others in the commotion.

He can’t stop thinking about the picture. Partly because Bernd indeed was cute as a baby, but mainly because the slightly older keeper indeed hasn’t been lying when he said he’s born basking in light. And that causes Marc-André to inadvertently compare Bernd to himself.

The Barcelona keeper has never had any qualms of being a vampire previously. He’s born in a family of vampires after all, so the blood-drinking and sun-avoiding thing (he supposes he shouldn’t particularly _hate_ sun now, considering where he plays, but still, excessive exposure to it tends to weaken him) always feel normal for him. He never exactly thinks of himself as the “creature of the night” or whatever the books and movies portray his species. But seeing baby Bernd, in all his brightness, vitality, _purity_ , with light literally coursing all over his veins, Marc-André can’t help feeling so _dirty_ , especially when remembering his own secret thirst towards the other keeper’s blood.

_How can I ever do that to him?_ he thinks bitterly to himself. _And more importantly, how can I ever be able to hold a candle against someone like him? In goalkeeping, perhaps, but in other things??_

Yet he knows as he looks at Bernd, he feels a strange burning sensation on the back of his throat that he’s never been able to get rid of, no matter how much blood he’s consumed before. And seeing baby Bernd doesn’t seem to alleviate that feeling, in fact, it only gets _worse_.

Marc-André sighs and puts his palm against his face, completely unaware of how the whole team is currently egging Jonas to showcase his magic, or how Bernd keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eyes.

He is so _screwed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the list of players I mentioned here and their powers (including the ones I’ve listed before, in case you’ve forgotten):
> 
>   * Lukas Podolski: disintegration. Basically he can cause anything and anyone to collapse into dust.
>   * Leon Goretzka: self-molecular manipulation. He’s capable of transforming his whole body into the structure of anything he touches, within certain time limit.
>   * Niklas Süle: armor. He can generate an innate iron armor all over his body which can withstand any kinds of physical attack. He can also generate the same armor over anyone he touches, but it’s more tiring to do that to many people at once.
>   * Mario Götze: location manipulation. He’s able to locate where everyone is at all times. He can also use it to pull things towards him, be it certain objects or people, but he can’t move himself to certain point in space.
>   * Mesut Özil: calmness induction. Read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621967/chapters/60330742) for more details about his power.
>   * Julian Draxler: power detection. He can identify anyone’s powers and the extent of it. He can also sense power usage within certain radius.
>   * Mats Hummels: seduction. The description and extent of his power can be read in more details [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003196/chapters/57742576).
>   * Benedikt Höwedes: mental shield. He’s immune to any kind of psychic attack, and he can also expand his shield to protect the others.
>   * Jérôme Boateng: werewolf. Born, not bitten.
>   * Marc-André ter Stegen and Thomas Müller: vampires. Also born that way.
>   * Bernd Leno: light manipulation.
>   * Joshua Kimmich: demigod. His father is the God of War. He has no specific superpower, but he has greater strength compared to normal humans, natural leadership, and is a great tactician.
>   * Marco Reus: eagle shifter. Basically, he can transform into an eagle, and even in normal state, has sharper vision and senses compared to normal humans.
>   * Toni Kroos: poison generation. He can emit poison from every opening of his body, be it his tear ducts to every single pore on his skin. He can manipulate the poison to create the effect he wants, and he's also immune to it.
>   * Manuel Neuer and Jonas Hector: wizards.
> 

> 
> I’m sorry if I include too many players here but I just can’t help myself XD
> 
> Hope you enjoy this story. Kudos, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Check my [tumblr](https://colorsofmyseason.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfiction) for more fic dumps/entries about my supernatural AU!


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